


A Pillow and a Gun

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, F/M, Flashbacks, Non-Graphic Violence, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2015, Smut, mobster!Belle, mobster!Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparks fly when bob boss Rhys Gold thinks he has a leg up on Belle French who has just taken over her family's business. But with the past these two have, and a turf war with Regina and Cora Mills looming, sparks aren't the only thing that will be flying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheStraggletag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/gifts).



> Mobster AU written for Rumbelle Christmas in July for thestraggletag, who prompted mobster!Gold vs mobster!Belle. Thank you so much for the marvelous prompt! As you can see I might have been a little over-inspired. ;) There is so much to this universe in my head, but I had to make it manageable to complete by the deadline. I hope it meets with your approval. And that summary is the worst fucking thing I've ever written. What is wrong with me

The door to the nightclub flew open, and Gold watched with interest as one of his men came through it, horizontally, sprawling over the sticky wood floor with a grunt. A moment later, a very tall, broad shouldered man with dark wavy hair entered. He glared at the henchman on the floor and stepped over him.

Mr. Dove, an equally tall man, but thin and almost albino in his features, moved from his post immediately to the left of the table where Gold sat. Two more men followed Dove, as he stepped into the path of the dark haired man.

The man stopped, but leaned around Dove to shoot Gold a menacing look. "The lady wants a word with you, Gold."

Before Gold could answer, a petite brunette woman entered, and looked with exasperation and anger at the scene in front of her. She strode forward, heels clicking against the floor, trying to project a confidence Gold suspected she didn’t really feel.

"That's _enough_ , Gaston," she said to the dark haired man. 

Gaston immediately cowed and stepped aside, but continued to glare with suspicion at Dove and the other men. The woman took another step forward. She was almost pressed against Dove, the toes of her shiny black shoes touching his. Her eyebrow arched and they held each other's gaze for a moment. Then Dove gave her a slight tilt of his head, and the look in his eyes turned almost fond, before he jerked his head at the other two henchmen and they backed off.

Gold smirked in amusement and leaned back in his chair. She glared hard at him, her hands perched at her slender hips.

“What the _hell_ , Gold?” she snapped.

He smirked. “Miss French, what a nice surprise.”

He noticed she was dressed very smart, in a slim black pencil skirt and cobalt blue blouse that made her eyes even brighter and sharper than normal. He really expected nothing less of her. He wasn’t stupid, she had all the brains necessary to play this game plus beauty that could stun men to silence. Despite his advantage in the situation, he needed to be careful.

“We had a _deal_ ,” she said, stepping up to the table.

His eyes narrowed. “No, _we_ did not, dearie,“ he replied. Then he abruptly stood up, cane in hand, leaning towards her. “Your _father_ and I had a deal.”

She recoiled a little, but her stern expression never wavered. “My father is _dead_ -”

“I am aware of that, Miss French,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I sent flowers and a card, did you not get them?”

She bristled and slammed her fist into the table, rattling the two glasses and sending some papers scattering to the floor. “This isn’t fair!”

Gold remained the picture of cool and collected but his fingers tensed around the handle of his cane. “Life is hardly ever fair, Miss French.”

She huffed. Of course Gold would be a complete insufferable bastard about this. She was stupid to think he would just accept her stepping into her father’s role in the organization, but she knew the family business inside and out and there was no way she was letting any of it fall into Gold’s hands.

She stepped around the table, her hand clenching at her side with the urge to rest her hand over his. “This means war, Rhys,” she said. “You know that I can’t let you do this, right?”

Her voice was low, her eyes narrowed at him . He almost reacted at the use of his given name, but he held back. He knew exactly what this meant and he was going to enjoy it. “Oh, I’m counting on it, dearie.”

Belle’s eyes were cold as she turned sharply on her heel and left the club. Gaston stood there confused for a moment, but when Dove took one step towards him, he quickly followed his employer out the door.

Dove turned back to Gold, raising his pale eyebrows in question, but Gold simply waved him off. 

Gold’s fingers twisted over the handle of his cane. “No need to follow her this time, Mr. Dove. Our plan moves forward tonight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_7 years ago..._

Gold hated parties.

Every time he was at a party, he wanted to be somewhere else. It didn’t matter it if was for a birthday or holiday or, in this case, a business meeting under the guise of a dinner party, held in a nicely sized private room of a very upscale restaurant. There was something about mingling with people and being forced to be polite, be civil, be _nice_ , that irked him. Perhaps it was because none of those things was in his nature.

Rhys Gold was not a nice person. His politeness and civility, when they occurred, were often thinly veiled in manipulation and subtle threats. They were a means to an end that served only himself or his interests, and outside of those moments he was cool and detached, and sometimes mean. He had a reputation, created decades ago during a time he’d rather forget, that he needed to uphold.

“There you are, Gold,” said a smooth voice with a slight Southern accent.

He turned and quirked an eyebrow at the tall blonde behind him. “You were looking for _me_ , Miss Drake?” he asked.

“God yes,” she replied, pausing to take a sip from her martini glass. “This shindig is duller than my Aunt Sally. At least you’re interesting to talk to."

He snorted. "Now, now, Mal, I've met your Aunt Sally and she's a lovely woman."

"Too bad she doesn't say the same about you.” The blonde tossed back the last of her martini and caught the bartender’s eye from across the room, raising her now empty glass and flashing the man an almost coy smile.

“I don't know what you mean,” Gold remarked. “I'm perfectly charming.”

He saw the exchange with the bartender and shook his head.

She laughed. “Yeah, sure, charming as a snake.”

He feigned offense and pressed the hand that wasn’t holding his cane to his chest. “Mallorie, you wound me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Rhys, honey, you know I adore you, even when you’re being a complete bastard.”

“Which is most of the time,” he said with a smirk.

“So I hear Moe’s daughter is back this week,” Mallorie said. She set her empty martini glass on the tray of a passing waitress and sauntered over to the bar to fetch her fresh drink. Gold meandered through the crowd with her, and ordered a scotch for himself.

“Oh, is she?”

Mallorie nodded. “Back from all that private schooling abroad. She’ll probably be intolerably snobbish, worse that my Lily after a weekend at her father’s.”

Gold laughed shortly and shook his head. “Your daughter is more like you than you care to believe.” Mallorie gave him a sharp look but after a moment her mouth curved a little, and she took a testing sip of her new martini.

“Besides,” Gold continued, “there’s no way Moe French is going to let his daughter near the business. He wants more for her.”

Mallorie sighed and turned to lean against the bar, looking out into the room. “Wasn’t that what you said about Neal?”

Gold’s hand tightened on the handle of his cane as he ground his teeth. “Low blow, Mal.”

“I was just pointing out that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” she said, looking Gold up and down pointedly. “However _short_ the tree may be.”

“I _know_ what you were doing,” Gold snapped. Then he took a breath and looked down at his hands, folded on top of his cane. “We always want better for our children, but sometimes they want something else entirely.”

Mallorie made an amused noise. “You mean your son’s girlfriend? I thought you two had buried the hatchet, and _not_ in each other’s backs.”

Gold nodded and sighed. “We have. That’s not really what I meant.”

Mallorie gave him a knowing look, but let it go. “So this doesn’t change your plans?”

“Why should it?” he asked. He glanced at her sideways as he raised his drink to his lips and sipped.

“Right,” she replied, disbelieving. “Just call me before you do something stupid, please?”

Gold laughed. “Mal, I -”

She shook her head and he stopped. “Don’t, Rhys,” she said, fixing him with a look. Her voice was low and she leaned in close when she spoke again. “You know I’m just here to keep you and your kin out of jail. Our past is our past, but we’ve always been in this together. Fuck the rest of these criminals.”

Gold swallowed hard and nodded. Despite their tumultuous beginnings, Mallorie was one of the few people he could call a friend. He trusted her to have his best interests at heart, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye.

Mallorie pushed up on her toes, craning her neck to see to the other side of the room. Then she smiled. “Well, I see my dear friend Ms. Deville has arrived.” 

She waved to a tall, slender woman with jet black hair streaked with a shock of white. “Put his drink on my tab,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the bartender. “See you later, Gold.”

He gave her a curt nod and then moved back to his spot by the wall, near the far corner of the room where he could see everyone and everything that went on. There was a small table with two chairs and he awkwardly lowered himself into one of them, stretching out his bad leg in front of him. That was the other thing he hated about these parties, being on his feet the whole time.

“Buy ya a drink?”

Gold looked up and met a pair of striking blue eyes attached to an equally striking brunette in a red lace dress. He lifted his glass to indicate he already had one, and gave her a tight smile.

“Oh,” she said, showing disappointment he was sure was faked. “Well, then do you mind if I sit?”

He didn’t answer, but she sat down anyway, which made him frown. Her accent was odd, a mix of more than one, neither of which he could place at the moment. She ran her hands over the fitted skirt of her dress and crossed her legs, which pushed the hem up to barely midthigh. Obviously, she had no idea who she was talking to, and judging from the all lace dress, she was probably someone’s date, possibly the paid for variety.

“I’m Lacey, by the way,” she said. 

He sputtered into his drink and nearly spit it out, only just managing to recover which lead to a minor coughing fit that had him leaning on the table. “Seriously?” he managed to choke out.

She shrugged. “You okay?”

He cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. “I’m fine, Miss -?”

“Just Lacey,” she replied, smiling.

“Right,” he muttered. Definitely paid for.

Albert Spencer, city councilman, walked in, and for a moment the gathered crowd lowered their voices to a weird hushed muttering until he passed by. Gold rolled his eyes and made some quip he didn’t think Lacey would understand. A beat later she quoted Voltaire at him while absently picking at her thumb nail, which was painted in a bold cobalt blue. It clashed terribly with her red dress, but he caught himself thinking it would set off her eyes just right.

They chatted about nothing in particular as they watched the rest of the guests slowly file in and order drinks only to wander around the room making useless small talk. Though she didn’t say too much, she was clearly very intelligent, not to mention beautiful, and Gold was intrigued, wondering whose date she could be and why that person wasn’t storming over here to fetch her. Maybe she wasn’t a prostitute exactly, but she looked like very expensive company for someone to just ignore.

A raucous laughter rose up from the far side of the room, and they looked at each other, then back to the room as Ms. Deville pushed through the bodies and stumbled her way to the bar, leaving an exasperated Mallorie Drake behind. Lacey shot him a look and a raised eyebrow, her lips slowly curving into a smile. She nudged his good leg with her foot, which he noticed were wearing very expensive, very tall heels, and he felt himself starting to grin too.

Annoyed that he couldn’t stop himself from reacting, he reached for his scotch and downed the rest of it in one swallow. As he made to get up, he noticed she didn’t have a drink. 

“What’ll you have?” he asked, leaning on his cane and pushing to his feet. “I need a refill.”

He jiggled the empty glass of nearly melted ice cubes at her, but she just shook her head.

“I’m not drinking tonight, thanks.” She smiled at him, and then went back to people watching.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He made it to the bar and leaned on it heavily while he waited for the bartender to pour him another glass. Looking back across the room, he watched this mysterious Lacey. She seemed almost bored with the whole thing, which only made him more convinced she was just someone’s pre-ordered date. Maybe her date had ditched her, or only brought her along to show up on his arm and didn’t care what she did after that. If that was the case, then what was the harm in him -

“Belle!”

Moe French’s voice exclaimed the name and the followed with a booming laugh. Gold watched in shock as Moe made his way over to the table. Lacey - _Belle_ \- stood and smiled broadly, then leaned in and embraced her father, pushing up on her toes to reach his shoulders.

 _Fuck_.

Gold turned back to the bar, snatched up the glass of scotch waiting for him and gulped it down.

The last time he remembered seeing Belle French she was eight years old and sitting on a battered park bench with peeling green paint. It was the day of her mother’s funeral and Gold had sat with her and tossed bits of stale bread at a group of ducks. They’d made a game of it, throwing the crumbs to the left and then right, laughing as the flock scrambled from one side to the other, falling over each other to get to the little morsels.

He’d been at a real low point that day, not just because Collette was gone, Moe was a wreck, and their plans were a mess. But seeing that little girl laugh, despite having just buried her mother, well he thought if he could manage that, then he was doing pretty good after all.

“Fuck,” he grumbled. Then he waved to the bartender and pointed at his empty glass.

“That’s your third one,” said a now familiar voice. “Hope you have a designated driver.”

Gold snorted. “I’ll be fine, Miss French.”

She laughed softly and dipped her head, a section of her wavy brunette hair falling over her face. “You’ve found me out,” she said, meeting his eyes.

When she raised up, she gave her head a little shake to settle her hair back into place. But there were still a few strands caught at the edge of her eye, and Gold’s hand clenched around the cold glass to keep from pushing it back with his fingers.

“Well,” he said, “your father might have ratted you out rather publicly.”

She smiled again and then shrugged. “Yeah, he was a little obvious.”

“It wasn’t a very good cover, dearie.” He smirked and took a sip of his drink.

She swatted his arm, and he startled. “You haven’t seen me in twelve years, Mr. Gold. You had no idea who I was,” she said, poking at the arm she just hit with her finger. “It was a damn good cover.”

“I thought you were someone’s... _date_ ,” he muttered, bracing a little for another smack when she figured out what he meant.

She frowned. “What?” Then her eyes went wide as his words sunk in. 

“ _Date_?” she questioned. Her voice was a little too loud and he implored her to be quiet.

“Like a _prostitute_?” she hissed, leaning in close to him. Her lips were twitching with the urge to laugh.

“Not like - not that - not -,” he sighed. “Not like a - just a _date_. An escort or something.”

Her eyes went wide. “How is that any different?”

He winced as she practically snarled at him. She huffed, and then he sighed again and shook his head, staring down at his glass of scotch and wishing he could just jump into it and drown. There was a noise next to him, something like a snort and snicker and muffled laughter all at once, and he looked up. She let her head drop to his shoulder, her forehead resting against the soft wool of his suit and she laughed quietly.

Gold stood there, tense, and waited for her to collect herself. “Are you finished?”

She nodded but her lips were pressed tight together to keep from laughing again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean -” He made a feeble motion with his hand and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a headache coming on but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or drink.

She shook her head and patted his arm. “It’s fine. I’m not offended.”

Then she looked down at herself and suddenly became a little self conscious, wrapping her arms around her torso. “I didn’t exactly pick this dress out with the intention of _not_ being noticed.”

He let out a short laugh. “Well, I’m sure it had the desired result then.” Then he gave her a pointed look. “Also explains why you aren’t drinking tonight.”

She grinned, briefly, knowing he was referring to her under the drinking age status, and then took a breath. “I’m sorry too.”

He frowned. “For what?”

“For misleading you,” she said simply. “I could have just sat down and said ‘hi Mr. Gold’ and let you figure out who I really was.”

His eyes twinkled. “But where would be the fun in that?”

She smirked at him and opened her mouth to say something, but Moe calling out to her from across the room caught her attention. She gave Gold a small shrug and went to her father.

“Well, now,” Mallorie said, sliding up beside Gold. “Looks like Daddy’s little girl is all grown up.”

Gold huffed a little and shook his head. Mallorie took it as something of an agreement. “Do you think he’ll bring her into the fold?” she asked, quietly.

He took another swallow of his drink and glanced up at Mallorie. “For her sake I hope not.”

Mallorie tilted her head in thought, folding one arm against her body and propping her elbow on the back of the nearest bar stool. Gold’s eyes followed Belle as she moved around the room, staying near her father, smiling, and shaking the hands of everyone as they went by. It felt a little too much like a coming out party or something, and Gold tensed as he saw Albert Spencer plaster on his fake grin and hold Belle’s hand between his. Spencer’s thumb rubbed over the back of Belle’s hand, and Gold’s grip on his cane tightened as he twisted it against the floor.

Belle tugged her hand away and gave Spencer a sharp look that had the old lecher shrinking away from her. Gold smirked. Whatever she had been doing these past twelve years, aside from school, she certainly had grown up. She was likely to be as strong and capable a woman as her mother, completely undeterred by whatever the foolish men around her were doing.

Then he sighed.

Belle French joining the family business was going to put all his carefully laid plans in jeopardy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who cares, [this is Belle's dress from the flashback.](http://i.imgur.com/zTmL61g.png)


	2. Chapter 2

Gold left the nightclub, walking the three blocks to his preferred establishment, a pawnshop with his name on the sign. Unlike the nightclub and the off-track betting place, it wasn’t just a front for laundering money or moving ill-gotten goods, though the contacts he’d made dealing in art and antiques were certainly useful for that. This was a legitimate business and the majority of the income from it came from pawned items, short-term _legal_ loans, and selling the various items he’d collected.

Just walking in the door of the shop, smelling that strange mix of wood varnish, dust, and paper was calming to Gold. He took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate slow almost immediately. He made his way to the back of the shop, his hand skimming the clear glass tops of the cases as he went.

“Hello, Henry,” he said, with a small wave and a smile for the young man at the register. “How’s business?”

Henry smiled and nodded to Gold. “Not bad, sir. A few pawns, the slips are on your desk, some college guy bought that old guitar for an even hundred, and some red headed woman is going to stop back tomorrow to talk to you about the Rocko bed. I told her you’d be around in the afternoon. Was that okay?”

Gold stopped and chuckled lightly. “That’s fine; I’ll make sure to be back by one. Thank you, Henry.”

“No problem, Mr. Gold,” Henry said, gathering up his backpack from behind the counter and shoving a couple of textbooks inside.

Gold smiled again, and then called out to Henry as he reached the front door of the shop. Henry turned and gave him a questioning look. “It’s Rococo, Henry. Not Rocko.”

“Right,” Henry said with a quick nod, then waved as he left.

Gold shook his head and stepped into the back room of the shop where he kept his desk, a large workbench, and the few odd pieces that needed restoration. He sank into the old leather chair behind the desk and picked up the pawn slips Henry had left, smiling with pride.

Henry was the progeny of his son Neal’s on again off again girlfriend, Emma. They’d been as such for the better part of two decades, and somewhere along the line, during one of their off periods, Emma had turned up on Neal’s doorstep, pregnant and terrified. Henry wasn’t Neal’s, unfortunately, but he might as well have been given how Neal had taken responsibility for the boy. Last year, since Henry was finally old enough, Gold had offered him a part-time job at the shop. 

He’d had to swear up and down to Neal and Emma he’d never let Henry be involved in anything even vaguely illegal, which he’d more than kept. It was handy to have Henry there in the afternoons when he got out of school or on Saturday mornings so Gold could conduct _other_ business. It meant he didn’t have to close the shop as much anymore to be at the club or across town at the warehouse. It also meant that for the first time in two decades, the shop was profitable again.

“Papa?” a voice called out.

“In the back!” Gold returned.

His son Neal came through the bead curtain into the back office and frowned. “So you’re going back on your deal with the French's?”

Gold glared. “My deal, as I explained just a day ago to Miss French, was with _Moe_ , not his daughter.”

Neal shook his head. “I don’t get why you can’t just get over -”

Gold grabbed his cane and pushed to his feet. “I am not going to listen to this again. Understood?”

“I think,” Gold continued, “that you have too much of a soft spot for Miss French. You spent too much time together when you were little. You still see her as some adorable little girl in braids and -”

Neal threw his head back and laughed. The booming sound reverberated in the small back room, making Gold frown heavily.

“That’s fucking rich, Pop,” Neal said, still grinning ear to ear. “ _I’m_ the one with the soft spot for Belle?” He pointed his index finger at his own chest, leaning forward a bit while looking directly at his father. “Right. I’m not the one who’s in love with -”

Gold’s hand slammed down on the desk, causing Neal to startle and stumble back into the edge of the workbench. “I am _not_. In _love_. With Miss French.”

Neal’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t otherwise react as he waited for his father’s outburst to blow over.

Gold grumbled and then moved to the wall to the right of the desk, lifting down the painting hanging there to expose the door of his wall safe.

“Dad -” Neal implored.

“No!” Gold snapped, spinning to face his son. “And _that_. _Is_. _It_.”

Neal sighed and leaned back against the workbench. He knew what his father’s history with Belle was, despite the fact that it had seemed weird for his dad to be involved with someone so close to him in age. The thing was he liked Belle, he liked the French family, their whole organization was full of good people who got stuck doing bad things to get by. He had hoped Belle could have tempered his father, but whatever had happened that ended it, it was still a sore spot even years later.

“Right,” Neal said finally. “Fine, _so_ \- Regina’s gonna be a problem. Since she and her mother had that falling out she’s been almost as batshit crazy as her sister.”

“Half-sister,” Gold muttered as he entered the combination to the safe.

Neal snorted a laugh. “Yeah, as she insists on reminding everyone.”

The door to the safe popped open and Gold’s mouth curled into a half smile. “Wouldn’t you if Zelena was _your_ sister?”

Neal feigned a suitably horrified look and laughed again. Gold removed a ledger book from the safe, and turned to set it down on the desk before looking up at his son. “I can handle the Mills women, most of all Regina.”

He went back to the safe and slipped a thick stack of bills out of his inside jacket pocket, and laid them in the safe, towards the back next to a few other wrapped money stacks.

“What are you going to do?” Neal asked, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing his father.

Gold faced him and smirked. “I’m going to offer her a deal she can’t refuse.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Days later, Belle French stormed through the door of a restaurant, her heels clicking furiously on the black and white checkered floor.

She ignored the few late afternoon patrons and wait staff, went directly through the swinging doors beside the bar, and into the kitchen. She weaved around the cook and a rolling cart, straight into the back office and flopped down hard on the sofa. It creaked and groaned even under her slight weight, a testament to its age and disrepair.

“Guessing it didn’t go well?”

Belle glanced up. “Shut it, Ruby. I’m not in the mood.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and sat down carefully on the arm of the sofa. One of these days she was sure it would just fall right off or the whole thing would finally collapse.

“Gold’s an ass, Izzy,” she sighed. “You know this. Did you really think he was just going to go along with it after everything that’s happened between you two?”

Belle sighed heavily and let her head loll back on the sofa. “I know he is, but -” she threw up a hand and sighed again. “I don’t know. I thought maybe, since dad died, I thought we could - I just -”

She let out a frustrated almost-growl and sat forward to pound her fists on the cushion on either side of her legs. “Obviously, I’m an idiot.”

Ruby reached out and squeezed Belle’s shoulder. “Of course you are.”

Belle snorted. “Thanks, Red.”

Ruby shifted and sank down on the sofa next to her friend. The weakened springs and the general lack of fresh stuffing caused the cushion to fold in on itself, making the women tip towards each other. Their shoulders pressed together and Ruby raised her arm to put it around Belle.

“That’s what I’m here for, Izz,” she replied, smiling sadly. “I know you guys were something once, and I know part of you wants to be again, but I think it’s pretty clear he’s over it.”

“Yeah,” Belle breathed. She looked down at her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “I messed up, Ruby. Now that’s two shipments we’ve _lost_ \- that that _bastard_ has stolen!”

She sniffled as the first tears started to fall.

“You’re going to mess up more if you don’t start getting smart about this mess.” A sharp voice barked from the office doorway.

“Granny,” Ruby whined. “Not now.”

“Not now?” Martha Lucas, or Widow Lucas to some, but better known in the neighborhood as “Granny,” straightened from where she had been leaning on the door jam and moved into the room, closing the door behind her. “Then when? When Gold’s screwed up everything? Taken everything your mother’s family built?”

“I know,” Belle said, pushing to her feet and sighing in resignation. “I _know_. I had to try though, you understand that, Gran, _right_?”

Granny nodded. “Oh, I understand, sweet one,” she replied, giving Belle a sympathetic half smile. Then she moved to the desk and flipped open the ledger that was lying in the middle. “I also understand that we lose more and more to Gold every day. Another truck was hijacked last night, not counting the stuff from this morning. We lost everything the Charmings got for us.”

“Shit,” Belle muttered. “I can still make the deal with Jones. We can get out of this, leverage Gold -”

“Leverage _Gold_?” the older woman exclaimed. “Are you crazy?”

“Gran -,” Belle grumbled.

“Don’t you _Gran_ me, missy,” she snapped, slammed the ledger shut again, shaking a pencil loose from where it was tucked over her ear and half-way into her gray curls.. “I was telling your mother, God rest her soul, the exact same thing when that moron Abbiati boy was making eyes at her. You don’t mix business and personal.”

Belle ran her hands through her hair and clomped around the office in her four inch heels, pacing loudly. “So what am I supposed to do then? Give up? I’m so close to what I want, I just - ”

“No, Belle, come on -” Ruby said, while at the same time Granny said, “Yes, exactly!”

Belle stopped, turned with her hands on her hips, and stared at them. “You two are no help,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

Granny moved her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Belle, dear, you have to give Gold the book.”

“No!” Belle yelled, pulling away from the older woman. “He’s not getting Papa’s book! That’s too much. He can have anything else, but _not_ that.”

Then she sighed and waved a hand towards the door. “Just leave me alone for a bit. The dinner service is going to start soon anyway.”

Ruby nodded, and took her grandmother’s arm, tugging gently until the elder woman followed her out of the room.

Belle sniffled and rubbed her hand under her nose before plopping down in the leather chair behind the desk. It creaked, but in a more relaxed way than the old sofa did, in a way that came more with the age of a well-kept antique than a ratty old piece of dorm furniture.

The chair had been her mother’s.

All of this had been her mother’s.

Or rather, her mother’s family.

When Collette Barsetti had come with her family to New York in the last 1970s, she had wanted to be a dancer on Broadway. But, her father, Antonin Barsetti’s business wasn’t the most legit, and despite his connections, no reputable theater company would take her. Eventually she fell for an up and coming Aussie in her father’s organization. Her father didn’t exactly approve, but when Collette turned up pregnant, there wasn’t any other option other than to let them get married.

When an attempt was made on her father’s life, Moe French packed up his new wife and fled back to his home country. They laid low a few years, until Antonin’s health deteriorated. With no brothers or other siblings, and only a bunch of power hungry underbosses clamoring over the future remains, Collette had no choice but to return to New York and take over the organization. She was good at it, surprisingly, though everyone thought it was Moe who was in charge. She had a level head that others respected, and Moe made for quite a convincing and imposing figurehead. 

But when Belle was only seven years old, Collette French was shot leaving the opera, arm in arm with her husband. Moe stayed in power, this time officially and unopposed. Belle had never known any other life, had never thought twice about what it was they were doing. Until she got out in the real world, went away to school, and realized how many problems there were outside her narrow, pampered world. 

And her family was part of the worst kind of problem.

When things got bad again a few years back, both for the business and for Moe’s health, Belle came back, swearing up and down she would take the whole thing legit. And once that was done, she was getting out, buying herself a little bookstore somewhere, in a nice, quiet neighborhood, and forgetting the whole damn thing.

Belled sighed again and pressed her palms to her closed eyelids. She took a few deep, steadying breaths to try to calm herself down, but it barely helped. She had seen this side of Gold before, plenty of times, but it was so different when it was directed at her. Even though she’d held her ground so far, hadn’t betrayed the anguish she was feeling inside, she knew that he knew. And yet he was still being a heartless bastard.

That pretty much cinched it, then. He was really over her, if he’d ever really been hers at all.

She had two terrible choices, fight until he eventually destroyed everything she had hoped to create, or make a deal for her mother’s legacy with a man who would do god knows what with it.

 _A deal with the Dark One_ , she thought. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_5 years ago..._

“Get in the car.”

“No!” Belle snapped as she kept walking, her heels loud and sharp on the pavement.

“Miss French, please,” Gold pleaded, easing the car along slowly, keeping pace with her.

Belle stopped and spun to face Gold, glaring. “ _Stop_ it.”

Gold brought the car to a stop and sighed in exasperation. “ _Fine_. Walk home, Miss French. On the streets of New York, at -” he paused to eye the clock on the dashboard of his Cadillac - “two fourteen in the morning, when it’s maybe forty degrees. That seems like a sound plan.”

She huffed and took a few more steps, trying to ignore how her skin prickled with goosebumps from the chill in the air, or how now that she’d stopped walking so fast her teeth were starting to chatter.

Sighing, she turned to the car again. “Did my father send you?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to pull the light black cardigan tighter around her as if the flimsy material would ward off the cold.

Gold rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Does it matter? The car is warm, and I promise to take you straight to your place, not to your father.”

She swallowed and looked at the car, then to the left and the right, up and down the street. “Fine.”

The car door flew open and she flopped down on the leather seat before he could even unbuckle his seatbelt to get out and open it for her. She shot him a quick glare and then fixed her eyes out the passenger window, holding herself stiff in the seat. He sighed, rolled his eyes again, and put the car in gear, pulling out into traffic.

The ride to her apartment was uncomfortably quiet. Gold kept shifting in his seat, trying to think of something to say and not leer at her legs or the way the skinny jeans she wore was clinging to her thighs like a second skin. He was thankful she at least had a sweater on, even if it wasn’t very warm, to block his view of the halter style top she was wearing.

“How long has he known?” Belle asked, her voice shocking Gold for a moment with the way it cut through the hum of the tires against the asphalt.

“That you were back in town?” Gold asked. She glanced at him and nodded. “Since you left Amsterdam.”

She turned sharply, her brow furrowed. “He knew I was coming home?”

Gold snorted. “No,” he answered, shaking his head as his mouth curved into a crooked smile. “I did.”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment and then she laughed. “Figures,” she muttered. “Nothing gets by Mr. Gold.”

He smiled at that. “Not most things, no.”

She gave him a slight smile in return. “Better you found out first than him.”

Gold shook his head. When Moe had sent Belle back to Europe last month, he’d known it was only a matter of weeks before she was back. She wanted in. She wanted to be part of the only family business she’d ever known, though God knew why. Moe wanted more for her, wanted her to be legitimate, to be away from all the shit they dealt with on a daily basis. But she was stubborn and more like her mother every day. Still, Gold wondered if there wasn’t some motive he hadn’t discovered, something Belle was up to that made her so insistent.

“Belle,” Gold sighed. “Your father loves you, you know that.” She swallowed and then turned away, but he could see her nodding reflection in the glass. “He just wants what’s best for you.”

She let out a growl of frustration and slammed her fist once against the center armrest, dangerously close to his elbow. Gold straightened and swapped hands on the steering wheel.

“I wish everyone would stop deciding what was best for me instead of _me_ ,” she said. “I want to help. I can _do_ this. Mom did it and he didn’t stop her.”

Gold nodded, holding back a smile. He knew Moe hadn’t stood a chance with Collette, and none of them probably did with Belle. “I know,” he said softly. She looked over at him briefly and then promptly back to the window. “Just promise you’ll hear him out tomorrow?”

She sighed and then nodded without looking at him. He glanced up at the street sign and turned the corner, coming to a stop at the first building on the block.

“Here we are,” he said, not bothering to try to get out of the car and be chivalrous.

She didn’t move, just sat, looking down and picking at her chipped nail polish. “I can do this, Gold.”

“I know,” he replied, watching her fingernail flick over her thumb. Then he reached over and put his hand over both of hers and gave them a squeeze.

She swallowed and looked up at him. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

He took a shaky breath. “I know.”

 _Boy_ did he know. All he’d done the last two years since she got out of school was try to avoid the very obvious fact that Belle French was a beautiful, intelligent young woman.

“Whatever you want to do,” he said, “there’s no doubt in my mind you’ll do it. Just - _be careful_. Be smart, like I already know you are.”

She smiled shyly, and he licked his lips and looked out the other window for a moment. His hand never left hers and she didn’t pull away.

“I just -” she started, and then paused to take a breath. He turned back and saw her with her eyes closed. 

“I just want to finish what mom started,” she said finally.

He nodded again and look forward out the window, thinking he really should take his hand back now because her hands felt way too warm and were entirely too close to her lap. A beat later she leaned over and her lips were pressed to his cheek, soft and little bit sticky from her lipstick.

Belle pulled away, and before he could do more than make a surprised noise, she was out of the car, slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Then she leaned into the car to shut the door and bent down to look in the window.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said with half smile.

He nodded again, still stunned, and smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

She took a few steps towards the building as Gold frowned at the lack of a doorman.

“Miss French,” he called out. She turned and looked at him and he added, “I didn’t tell him you were back. Yet.”

A smile crept over her face, as she turned away.


	3. Chapter 3

Gold leaned his cane against the antique wood side table and dropped onto the leather couch.

The fire was the perfect height, just the right amount of heat for the high ceilings of his study, the perfect soft, yellow glow to illuminate the space. He swirled the scotch around the glass in his hand trying to keep his mind blank. The last four weeks had been rough to say the least. It had started with one of his oldest friends dying, and now it seemed to be ending with a messy three-way feud he really wanted no part of, but had foolishly started.

Regina took his deal, and somehow convinced her mother it was a good idea, which meant at least part of his plan was in motion. That was small comfort when he still had to deal with Killian Jones. He hated that one-handed, smooth talking bastard, and the last thing he wanted to do was make a deal with the Irish mob.

But needs must, he thought, and sipped at his scotch, swallowing slowly so he could revel in the burn as it eased down his throat. A moment later came the warming in his belly that radiated outward, and he sighed.

Even if all the players were lined up, there was still one problem he hadn’t yet figured out how to deal with.

Belle French.

The minute he met the precocious little bookworm he knew she was trouble. She sat there studying him with just the slightest arch of an eyebrow like she was waiting for him to do something. Apparently he hadn’t been very interesting because he remembered her shrugging, tucking her book under her arm, and wandering off to look for her mother.

He still had too much of a soft spot for Belle, even Neal knew it.

It had been seven years since she’d come home, all finished with school, two degrees to her name, and all the confidence and brains to back them up. She was twenty-seven, he was forty-eight, forty-nine in two more months. 

( _Shit_ , was he going to be fifty so soon?) 

He was nearly twice her age. He should have known better, after the way she fooled him at that party, in that ridiculously sexy red lace dress, that she was trouble. It had been a mistake to get involved with her beyond friendship even if at the time it felt like maybe there could be something more, that he could really have that kind of life. That was where he’d really fooled himself, thinking that he was anything more than the son of a coward and a cheat, a criminal just like his father.

He failed his son and the woman he loved. At least maybe when all this was over, Belle could move on. She’d have nothing left, but he’d make sure she was taken care of. Then nothing would stop her from her dreams, from her quiet little life that had no place for him. And after what he was about to do, he didn’t deserve a place in that future.

Milah had been right all along.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They went back and forth almost every day for another month. Gold ruined two more deliveries, swiping the merchandise and the money, and sent Gaston to the hospital. They had to make up a story about a bar fight, and fortunately the police didn't seem to care, but Belle was furious.

After that, she personally delivered a crowbar to Gold's Cadillac, through the windshield. She had designs on doing more, and her rage certainly would have let her, but she wasn't above admitting that sentimentality stopped her. The Caddy was his baby, one of the first things he owned in this country, and she had too many fond memories of her own to destroy it. She did take the time to stab the straight end of the crowbar into the driver’s seat though, and left it to stick up obscenely as she walked away.

She hoped the message was clear.

She had told him once that he was a victim of his own arrogance, which she knew was at least sixty percent put on to front the heaping pile of failures and insecurities he insisted on never letting go. This seemed to be no different. If he would have just talked to her, would have been reasonable instead of trying to stick to the letter of his stupid deal, none of them would be in this situation. Hell, if he showed up on her doorstep right now, willing to talk, she would let him in and listen. And probably fuck him afterwards.

Staring listlessly at the television, a half-eaten slice of pizza on a paper plate next to her, she sighed. She hated that she still loved the bastard when he was hell bent on destroying everything she had. Somewhere, deep down, she was certain he still cared about her. He was just afraid to admit it, afraid of being weak, afraid of losing all his power and control.

Killian Jones and his crew were rumored to have done a deal with Cora, something Regina might not know about if what Leroy told Ruby was right. Belle hoped that might be enough of a distraction for both Gold _and_ Cora that she could finish her plan and leave the whole mess behind. She was ready, she decided, to be someone else, somewhere else for a while. She wanted her dream, the small town and the bookstore and the kids’ story hour.

This life of crime and violence and lies had worn her down to the point where she barely recognized herself. She had never meant for it to take this long once her father died. In his last days, Moe had even supported her idea of taking everything legitimate, getting out of the old ways. He’d confessed that her mother had sometimes talked about the same thing, and that made it even more important that she succeed.

Sighing again, Belle picked up her cell phone and tapped out a text message. Her thumb hovered over the send button. If this didn’t work she would be out of options. They would all be out of options. But she had to trust in their friendship and shared issues with Gold. She took a deep breath and hit send.

If anyone could help her pull off a last ditch effort, it was Neal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_3 years ago..._

“Need a ride?”

Belle bit her lip around a smile. “Another one?” she asked, already walking towards the shiny black Cadillac.

Gold grinned, flashing his crooked teeth. He didn’t bother to try to get out this time, just leaned over and flipped the lock on the passenger door. 

She gave him a sly smile, catching the way he blatantly eyed her legs as she swung them inside. The little black dress she wore walked a perfect line between flirty and sexy with its nearly sheer fabric and lace overlay. It was sleeveless and fitted, but the skirt was flowy and loose. It fell to mid thigh and left far more of her creamy skin on display than he was prepared to deal with right now.

 _Christ_ , he was already half-hard just from his wandering thoughts.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve been for a drive,” she said as he started the car. “I’ve missed it.”

“Really?” he said with an amused smirk. “Well, the last time I recall chauffeuring you around it was raining, pouring actually, and you had no coat, no umbrella, no wellies. You looked like a drowned cat.”

She threw her head back and laughed as he pull out into traffic, then let it roll to the side, grinning. “And you rescued me.”

He chuckled lightly. “That I did.”

They sat in silence for a couple of blocks before she asked, “So, is this thing with Spencer going to get messy?”

He grumbled. “It had better not, if Albert Spencer knows what’s good for him.”

“He’s been chummy with _Cora_ recently,” she added, with a slight roll of her eyes as she said the elder Miss Mills’s name. “That doesn’t bode well.”

Gold’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, the vinyl squeaking a little. Cora Mills was a mistake he should have never made. He tried to bring her into the business, and his bed, but that was neither here nor there. Both had backfired spectacularly. Now she was out on her own with her daughters and apparently making moves.

“He can be _friends_ with whomever he likes,” Gold finally replied. “But if he wants to keep getting reelected and getting pissed in the Hamptons every holiday weekend, he won’t be anymore than that.”

They lapsed into silence again, and Belle sighed, stealing looks at Gold every so often as they rolled passed buildings and people and all the lights and sounds of the big city. She liked watching him. She liked all the little details about him, all the things that were there for her to notice that most people probably didn’t, like the way he always played with his cane when he was sitting, how he tossed his head to flick his hair out of his eyes.

 _Oh_ , his eyes.

Those warm, honeyed brown eyes felt like they were staring into her soul every time they were on her. It made her heart stutter and heat rush between her thighs. Even the subtle movement of his leg as he drove made her want to touch him, creep her hand up his thigh until her palm was pressed against the front of him. She’d either find him completely uninterested, or, if she was right, more than interested. The faint traces of alcohol in her blood were making her feel bold and impulsive.

Gold swallowed, his throat drying with every surreptitious glance, his eyes shifting from her neck to her mouth, and down the expensive little black dress she was wearing to her legs. At a traffic light he watched her shift, sliding one perfect leg over the other, settling again with her knees pointing away from him and her elbow on the door armrest. His eyes flicked down to see the outside curve of her bottom angled towards him, and he bit back a groan.

They finally arrived at her place, now a nice two bedroom, two bath brownstone instead of a studio apartment in a building with what Gold had felt was pathetically lax security. She waited for him to get out, this time, and come around to the passenger side to open it for her. 

“My lady,” he mumbled, and she grinned as she stepped onto the pavement, her skirt fluttering behind her.

He walked her to the door, waiting patiently while she unlocked it, and just as he was about to bid her goodnight she took hold of his hand.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked, her lips curve slightly.

His lips twisted and he cleared his throat sharply. “I don’t think that’s -”

She immediately stepped inside, pulling him with her. The door swung shut, and she fell back against the wall in the foyer. He stumbled a bit with his cane, but followed, moving into her space, her eyes falling closed a moment. His hand came up, caressing her cheek and along her jaw with the backs of his fingers until her eyes fluttered open again. 

The last few years had seen them develop a strange but comfortable friendship. Besides having the potential to destroy that relationship, Gold knew this could ruin everything in their organization if Moe found out. 

This was playing with fire.

“Belle,” he whispered. His mouth was dry and his mind was spinning fast, struggling to catch up to what was happening.

“Rhys,” she whispered back, smiling.

Hearing his name, said so sweetly, he gave in to temptation and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers.

It was a soft, gentle kiss, their lips parted slightly, just enough to leave a trace of him lingering on her mouth afterward. It made her whole body flush, warming her head to toe with the tenderness of it. He pulled back and the look in his eyes went straight to her core.

Belle ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting him there, the faint hints of scotch and something spiced. Gold’s eyes followed the purposefully slow movement, and his mouth fell open just a little as he made a low noise in the back of his throat. She tipped her head up just a little, the height of her heels bringing her almost even with him.

His hand moved to her throat, then threaded through her hair, pulling her to him, taking her lips again in a bruising kiss. Her back hit the wall again as one of his legs slipped between hers, and she arched against him, shivering and moaning as his tongue pushed into her mouth. She could feel the flush of arousal between her legs, the heat and throb of her pussy as something started to uncoil inside her.

His suit jacket hit the floor with a thud, and he winced as he remember the Walther 9mm concealed inside. She didn’t seem to notice the noise, but pushed him back a moment later. He thought that was it, that was she her coming to her senses, but she licked her lips and pulled him back for another kiss.

From there, everything broke.

He fucked her with his fingers right there in the foyer, holding her skirt up with a hand against her hip, her sodden panties shoved to the side. Her heels skidded on the marble floor as she writhed against his hand and begged for more, hooking her leg around his hip to keep him close.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he mumbled against her throat. “So beautiful, so wet. Gonna feel so good when I fuck you.”

She managed to squeak out a yes and a plea before she cried out with her orgasm, burying a hand in his hair and tugging perfectly as she held on and rode out her pleasure. His forearm would probably have thin bruises from her dainty fingers in the morning, but it didn’t matter because there was going to be a very telltale mark on the side of her neck, courtesy of his teeth. He loved hearing her, loved how hot and slick she was, but his ankle was screaming and he needed to get her spread out on a bed as soon as possible.

When she finally came down, she grabbed at his hand, and sucked her juices from his fingers, his surprised moan making her smile. Without letting go of his hand, she guided him up the stairs. It was slow going with his leg and cane, and the fact that she stayed barely one step ahead of him so her perfect little bottom kept brushing against him. She kept giving him looks over her shoulder, knowing exactly what she was doing to him.

Payback came when she reached the top step and he slid a hand up her thigh from behind, lifting her dress to squeeze one cheek, then slipping between her legs. Her panties were useless now, soaked through and sticking obscenely to her swollen lips. She braced herself on the railing with one hand and reached back with the other to take hold of his wrist before he could do more than tease.

He chuckled at the fiery look she gave him, and moved up to the last step, letting his erection push against her.

The moment they were inside her bedroom, he pinned her against the wall, their mouths meeting on impact, wet and heated. One hand was on her ass, the other cupped a breast while her hands busied themselves with trying to undo his tie. He couldn’t get enough of how she tasted, even with the lingering flavor of lime from the drink she had at the club. He hated lime, but he’d make an exception for it if it came mixed with Belle.

After a few frustrating seconds where she have didn’t enough leverage to get his tie off, she pushed him back. They paused for a moment, both breathing heavily, mouths open, her lipstick smeared on both of them.

They somehow made it to the bed, shedding the majority of their clothes on the way. His shirt went first, with a few buttons possibly lost in the process, and he had no idea where his cane was. He didn’t care much when her dress was finally on the floor and she was laying back on the mattress, stretching her arms over her head. She was still wearing those dangerously high heels, and he had a thought that maybe he’d like it if she kept them on, maybe wore them with nothing but stockings and a garter belt. Maybe he’d keep her arms like that too, tie her to the bed with silk and lay between her legs, his mouth on her sweet pussy until she screamed.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he realized he’d been staring. He smiled, his half-lidded eyes shining with appreciation. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

She smiled back and gave him an equally appraising look. He was thin, which she already knew, but he was strong with lean muscles and smooth skin, just a little darker than hers. She made a show of looking him up and down, unconsciously licking her lips when she reached his groin and saw how his cock tented his boxers.

Belle met his eyes and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra, tossing it to the side. A tiny sound escaped him, pleasure combined with surprise, at the sight of her bare breasts. He knelt on the bed and bent over her, hesitating before his hands touched her soft mounds. Her rosy nipples tightened against his palms, aching like the rest of her. Her back arched, pressing herself into his touch as his fingers started plucking at the tender buds.

She keened, her hands tugging on his hair once more as his tongue flicked over her nipple, making tight little circles. Then his mouth finally closed over the sensitive little tip holding her in his lips, frustrating her before he sucked gently. She cried out, and his fingers tugged on her other nipple, almost matching the sensations of the one in his mouth. Hands and sounds urged him on until he was finally as rough as she wanted him to be, using the edges of his teeth and sucking hard.

Belle made a frustrated noise, her fingers running through his hair and down to the back of his neck, nails scraping roughly. “ _Rhys_ -”

He groaned, the feeling of her starting to lose control already making his cock twitch against the elastic of his boxers. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“ _More_ ,” Belle finally replied, licking her lips. “ _Please_.”

Her thighs rubbed together, desperate for something to soothe the hot ache. Her pussy clenched around nothing, and she bit her lip, as she felt his hand leave her breast and venture lower. She wanted him everywhere, all over her, covering her, _filling_ her. There was a wet pop as her breast slipped from his mouth, and he looked up, seeing her eyes tightly shut, her teeth worrying her bottom lip until it might bleed.

“Sweetheart,” he crooned, softly kissing her reddened lip. Her eyes blinked open and she took a shuddering breath. 

She watched as he lowered his head again, nuzzling the side of her breast. “No need to be quiet. Let me hear you,” he murmured against her skin.

Gold started moving down her body slowly, kissing and nipping as he went, while one finger slid under the edge of her underwear and teased her entrance. He could feel her pussy flutter around his fingertip and he hummed low in his throat. The thought that he wouldn’t last five seconds inside her was at the forefront of his mind, and his already straining cock twitched in agreement.

“ _Oh_ ,” she whispered as he tugged her panties down.

Her legs fell open so he could lie between them, and he swallowed hard as he got his first look. She was bare. Absolutely, blessedly smooth. He groaned and leaned in to give her a long, slow lick with the flat of his tongue, dipping between her folds and flicking lightly at her clit. She cried out, her hips bucking off the mattress, but he pressed her back down with a hand. 

He started circling the little nub with his tongue as he pushed two fingers all the way inside her, feeling her tense around him. One of her hands gripped his hair, and he moaned when she tugged on it, as the other twisted the duvet beneath her. He lapped at her greedily, loving the slightly tangy taste of her sweet pussy. He moaned again, and she lifted her hips into him, crying out his name. _God_ , did he love the way that sounded, so desperate, so beautiful, and all for him.

He pushed his fingers deep, curling and searching for the right spot, as he sucked her clit between his lips. She squeaked and gasped, her thighs tensing around his head while his lips and teeth worked her little bud just like he had her nipples. She was almost embarrassed at how easily he figured out what she liked, manipulated her body and pushed it to the edge of that blinding release. 

Belle kicked at the bed, knocking off one of her shoes, then curled her leg around his shoulder, trying to press him closer. The pleasure was intense, little shocks rippling through her body from his mouth while his fingers had her pussy clenching and aching. A moment later she was screaming beneath him, coming hard as her whole body shook with bliss.

He kept his fingers moving in her as he shifted and wiped his mouth, drawing her down from her peak slowly, dragging out her orgasm as long as he could. Finally he pulled his hand free and held her gaze as he sucked his fingers into her mouth, tasting her again with a groan. 

Gold stood up and quickly shed his boxers, and she grinned, slipping off her remaining shoe and moving up the bed until her head was on her pillow.

“Please tell me you have condoms in that drawer, sweetheart,” he said, nodding towards her nightstand.

“Pill,” she said immediately, and he groaned.

Being bare inside her was definitely not going to help his endurance at all. He laid out alongside her, distracting her with another kiss, as he stroked her with his fingers again. His thumb rubbed her clit gently, knowing she’d be extra sensitive so soon after her first orgasm.

“Rhys,” Belle gasped, breaking the kiss. Her hips bucked into his hand as a fresh wave of arousal rushed over her. “ _Fuck_. Just -”

He smirked and nipped at her jaw, withdrawing his fingers to spread the slickness up over clit, touching it more directly. “Just what, sweetheart?”

“ _Oh_ ,” she mewled. She was getting close again, so very close, but she needed him inside her.

“Tell me,” he said, moving over her, looking down at her as she thrashed against the pillow.

“You,” she gasped. “Just - I need _you_.”

Gold hummed in agreement, pulling his hand away, spreading her wetness over his length as she watched, her eyes dark and wide. He took himself in hand and pressed against her heat, watching her face as he eased the head of his cock inside. She was so tight, so hot, and he had to pause and take a breath before he embarrassed himself.

He rocked back and forth, slipping further and further into her with each movement, until she was grabbing at his shoulders trying to pull him closer. He withdrew all the way, holding for just a second to tease her, before surging forward and sliding all the way inside her in one thrust. She hissed out a yes and pulled him down on top of her, wanting to feel the weight of him as he filled her. He moved in and out slowly, savoring the flutter of her inner muscles as she tried to keep him in.

“ _More_ ,” she begged.

Bracing on his forearms, he began moving faster, snapping his hips into hers. Belle’s legs came up around his slim hips, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him to fuck her harder. She rocked against him, meeting his thrusts, loving the way he groaned when they finally matched rhythms. The build wasn’t gradual; his hand came under to grab her bottom and tipped her hips up, making the angle sharper, the penetration deeper. He mumbled in her ear, telling her how perfect she was, how amazing she felt. Her breathing quickened, along with their movements, and she could feel her body at that edge again, ready to fall. 

His jaw tensed as he fought to hold himself back, the slight pain of her nails clawing at his back, leaving red trails from his neck down past his shoulder blades almost enough to make him come. He tipped to the side, trying to keep the weight off his bad leg, but not break the cadence of his hips, and brought a hand between them. A few rough presses of his thumb and she was crying out again, her body arching off the bed, every muscle tensing as she fluttered and pulsed around him.

Intense pleasure rippled outward from her core to her fingertips and down to her toes. Gold had stilled as well, his hand still clutching her hip tightly, but she could feel the shallow movements of his hips as he came with a few more thrusts deep inside her. She squeezed her pussy around him, wanting to milk every last drop from his cock, and it sent little aftershocks zinging through her. He made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and then fell to the side, rolling off of her. 

She fell back against the bed, her body suddenly slack and liquid. She hummed, feeling utterly unable to move, more sated than she had been in ages, if ever. With some effort, she managed to tuck herself against his side, head pillowed on his shoulder. His arms came up around her, pulling her close. He swept the hair back from her face, where it had stuck in the sweat on from their exertions.

“You okay?” he asked.

She sighed happily, planting a kiss on his chest. “I’d say more like amazing, but okay works too.”

He smirked kissed her brow, letting his eyes drift closed. “My Belle,” he whispered, and she smiled.

“Will you stay?” she asked, hesitantly, and he nodded.

After a few minutes of lying together, they cleaned themselves up and turned down the sheets, casting the now soiled duvet to the floor. Belle pulled out a large knit blanket from a drawer under her bed, and he spread it over their naked bodies. Utterly sated, languid in the aftermath of such intense pleasure, she fell asleep feeling warm and protected.

Gold didn’t fall asleep so easily. He laid there until Belle had been asleep for a time, and then carefully slipped out of bed.

He tugged on his boxers and retrieved his cane, heading back downstairs to the foyer. He picked up his suit jacket and smoothed it out, hanging it on the hooks by the front door. Reaching inside, he pulled out the Walther, and turned it one way and then the other, frowning. 

With a sigh, he went back upstairs.

Belle was still sound asleep, and he couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face. She was perfect. Too perfect, especially for the likes of him. He could never be the man she deserved, but it pained him to think of anyone else lying next to her now that he’d been there.

Shaking his head, he carefully slid back into bed. She must have felt the mattress shift because she rolled over and slung a leg over his, her arm draped across his chest. He sighed, tucked the gun under the edge of his pillow, and was asleep in minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is Belle's dress](http://i.imgur.com/eZEAj1o.png) from this particular flashback.


	4. Chapter 4

Gold still hated parties.

This one is at least eighty percent more pretentious than the last one he was forced to attend by the fact that it’s being held in the new wing of the art museum, oh so graciously patroned by Ms. Cora Mills. He wanted to gag at the thought, but instead he takes another sip of champagne and tilts his head to the left. It’s not like the slight change of angle will make the painting any more comprehensible to him as anything more than a series of odd blue splatters on a white canvas, but it’s better than reading the odious plaque underneath it about the artist’s interpretation.

It had been two weeks since the last incident, since Mr. Dove had sent Gaston to the hospital. It was unfortunate, but was typical of what happened when someone tried to punch Mr. Dove in the face, so Gold couldn’t be too unhappy about it. He was a bit surprised that there had been no reprisal yet. Perhaps the French’s organization was finally getting worn down.

There was a snorting noise next to him and he turned to see Mallorie smirking at him.

“Something funny, Miss Drake?”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t strike me as the art type.”

“I like art just fine,” he replied, feeling a bit snappish. “Rembrandt, Monet, Picasso, those I understand. This -” He trailed off, waving a hand at the painting.

Mallorie smiled. “It is a bit -” she frowned and pressed her lips together. “Minimalist.”

Gold laughed and emptied the rest of his glass in one swallow, setting it aside on one of the small tables.

“So,” she continued. “I heard Regina’s sister caused a bit of scene earlier. Sorry I was late and didn’t get a ticket for the show.”

He hummed and gave Mallorie a look. “That woman is unhinged. But, yes, it was very interesting to watch.”

Mallorie grinned. “I’m sure Cora was fit to be tied.”

Gold put his hand on Mallorie’s back and they moved away from the row of paintings towards the temporary serving area setup in a hall next to the gallery.

“Between you and me,” Gold said, keeping his voice low, “Cora was _livid_ and she looked like she had no idea Zelena was even in the city.” 

Mallorie giggled softly as they came to a stop beside the bar in the corner. “But, what was interesting -” he added, eyebrow quirked, “was that Regina just stood there.”

Her eyes went wide. “Just stood there?” Gold nodded. “She didn’t look at all surprised?”

He shook his head slowly, smiling slightly.

They picked up a glass of champagne each and made their way to a quiet corner where they could people watch and talk.

“So,” Mallorie said. “Mother and daughter aren’t on the same page?”

Gold shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure exactly, but there’s an opportunity.”

Mallorie nodded as her eyes scanned the room. She gasped softly when she spotted a petite brunette in a very fitted white and black dress, with lace around the middle and some kind of cutout in the top that gave a perfect view of her cleavage.

She leaned in near Gold’s ear. “Don’t look now, Goldie, but you’re _ex_ just walked in.”

Frowning, he looked around until he saw her. His fingers squeezed the handle of his cane as he watched Belle say something to Regina, give her a fake smile, and then duck out of the conversation. She started walking towards the small buffet table, which meant she was walking towards them.

“Uh oh,” Mallorie muttered. “Behave, Gold.”

He shot her a look and his eyes flicked back to Belle who had stopped and was openly staring at him. He swallowed. Her eyes were soft, her lips moving slightly in a way that looked like she was about to smile, and he felt his chest tighten. A second later, she squared her shoulders, steeled her expression, and stalked towards the bar in her ridiculously high heels, purposefully not looking in his direction. He sighed and rubbed at his thigh; his leg was starting to ache already.

“You okay?” Mallorie asked.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly but that was the only sign she might not believe him. “Right.”

She finished her champagne, handed the glass to Gold, and said, “Well, I’m going to go stand dangerously close to the Mills women and see if I can overhear anything interesting.”

Gold snorted. “You mean you’re going to go stand next to the bar, drink too many martinis, and try to look like you’re not eating all of the chicken satay?”

Mallorie, brushed her fingers over his jaw, grinning. “You know me so well.”

He watched her saunter off with a bemused expression and a slight head shake.

Belle sighed and sipped carefully at her second glass of champagne. The desire to drink until she couldn’t feel anything was pretty strong, but she’d only regret it in the morning. The main room was overheated with too many warm bodies milling about, compounded by the steaming trays of food and extra lighting. She couldn’t think, couldn't hear anything but the dull roar of polite conversation, interrupted by the occasional overly boisterous laugh or the clatter of a serving tray nearly being dropped.

She stared listlessly at the painting in front of her, two streaks of blue paint on a white canvas, the lines parallel with little flecks dotted in between them. They must have been perfectly splattered like that, in such a way that if extended they would never meet though they were mere inches apart. It felt so… melancholy, and so familiar.

“I didn’t get it either,” a very familiar voice said, and her head turned sharply to see Gold standing next to her. His eyes were fixed on the painting, his face in profile, and she allowed herself a moment to just look at him.

Gold was silently chastising himself for letting out the quip instead of something sharper. But she was standing there, alone, with some far off look in her eyes, and he’d crossed the room before he could stop and think.

Bell snorted and gave him a half smile. “Apparently, the artist was trying to represent the futility of effort in the modern, post-industrial economy.”

Gold’s head turned very slowly until he was looking at her. “ _What_?”

She laughed lightly, and he hated that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling back at her.

“I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. She pointed under the painting. “It’s what’s on the plaque.”

Then she sighed. “But I just think it feels - sad.”

Gold shifted uncomfortably. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go. It was too familiar, too much like how they used to be, and it made him angry. She probably thought she could just slip back into his good graces if she waited until he had a couple of drinks in him and then pretended like nothing had changed between them. As if she hadn’t lied to him, betrayed him, and left his heart in pieces.

“What’s sad is that you persist in these pathetic attempts to undermine me,” he snarled. “You won’t win, Miss French. Things are only going to get worse for you.”

Her jaw tensed as the mood veered sharply from playful to adversarial. “The worse they get for me, the worse they get for you too.”

He grinned crookedly and chuckled. “Yes, but you see, unlike you, I can spare the money and the man power.”

She glared at him.

“Unlike you,” he continued, stepping closer and looking down at her, trying to use the little height he had over her to be more intimidating, “I am willing to sacrifice whatever it takes to get what I want.”

“Including your son?” she snapped. Then she realized what she said and recoiled a bit. She didn’t want to say too much and risk messing up everything.

Gold scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Do you really think Neal is going to just stand by and let you self-destruct again?”

“If anyone is self-destructing here, it’s _you_!” He jabbed a finger at her in anger, and she stepped back.

“Why are you doing this?” Belle asked. Her lips pressed together and her left hand tightened around her black sequined clutch. She could feel heat rising in her face and the sting of tears welling up in her eyes. “I just - I don’t understand. _Rhys_ , please.”

Gold almost winced at the desperate way she said his name. The look in her eyes was killing him, but they were surrounded by people.

“Not here,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her down the hallway and around the corner. 

A few moments later they found themselves outside a closed exhibit, but Gold paid the signs no mind and opened the doors, leading her inside. The doors shut behind them, and he turned to see Belle confused and breathing hard, still looking at him uncertainly. The room was long and dimly lit, with only a few of the gallery lights left on as well as the light above the doorway. 

Belle leaned against the wall, next to a late Renaissance painting, and Gold sighed. The light caught her hair perfectly, the red highlights glowing among the darker brown. He forced the thoughts away.

“Bastard,” she muttered, shaking her head. Then she fixed him with a hard stare. “You just can’t fucking help it, can you?” 

He scoffed. “Help what, dearie? I’m not the one making this personal.”

She laughed, humorlessly. “No, of course not.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s _always_ business with you,” Belle snapped. “Was I just business too? Is that it? Is that why you could never be honest with me? Why you didn’t _trust_ me?”

This was dangerous territory, but she was mad and hurt and done with fearing what the truth might be. If this was it for them, if he was going to take everything she had, then she was going to get her answers.

“Belle -” he started, frustration building along with the pinch between his eyes. He’d either had too much to drink or not enough, but either way he needed out of this conversation.

“That’s it, isn’t it,” she said, more as a statement than a question. “You didn’t want me, you wanted my father’s black book. You wanted the power, and you wanted it all for _yourself_!”

Gold gaped at Belle. “ _What_?”

“Was I just a way to get what you wanted?” she asked, pushing off the wall as he huffed and turned away from her. She was furious now. How _dare_ he turn his back on her again. She swatted at his back as she yelled, her hand slapping hard against his shoulder. “Did you _use_ me like some _fucking whore_?”

“ _No_!” he shouted, spinning around to face her, caught somewhere between anger and desperation. “No, of course not! _Belle_ , you’re not - I never -”

“Then _why_?” she pleaded, stepping close to him. Her voice was so soft as she spoke, he had to strain to hear her over the muted sounds of the party on the other side of the wall. “Why did you push me away, Rhys?”

Her eyes were bright, shining with tears and anger, searching his face. He blinked and could feel every wall cracking under her gaze.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he sighed. “You were always personal, _too_ personal. And I’m -” He shrugged and blinked, feeling the heat and sting of tears welling in his eyes as well. 

He leaned towards her, hesitantly, and felt so grateful when she met him halfway and tipped her forehead against his.

“I was a coward, Belle,” he whispered.

The slight pressure of a finger under his chin made him lift his head and meet her eyes. “You’re not,” she said. “I’m sorry I ever said that.”

He gave her a half smile. “No, you were more right than you know.”

Her head tilted to the side a little, and her hair fell forward, loose spirals brushing her cheeks. He caught one along the edge of her jaw, sweeping it back as he slid his hand into the strands at the base of her neck. A second later he crushed his lips against hers.

She opened her mouth immediately, meeting his tongue stroke for stroke, moaning at the familiar taste of scotch and him. He pushed her back to the gallery wall, the molding digging into the curve of her back, but she didn't care. She thrust her hips into his, one hand slipping into his jacket to grab his ass and pull him against her while his hand fisted in her hair, pulling just the way she liked.

He broke the kiss and staggered back, his eyes roaming over her slightly rumpled form.

“Rhys, please,” she begged, not understanding where this sudden, burning need for him came from, but desperately wanting him to kiss her again, to fuck her hard and deep the way only he knew how.

He made a low, growling noise and grabbed her hips, spinning her around. “Is this what you want?” he rasped in her ear as his hands tugged up the tight skirt of her dress.

“Yes!” she hissed, shifting her feet back so she could brace against the wall. Her heels put her hips at just the right height, and she could feel the slick rush of her arousal dampen the silk between her legs.

Gold yanked his belt loose and then the zip of his trousers, pulling his half hard cock out without undoing anything else. He stroked himself a few times, hardening fast as she whimpered and waiting for him to fill her. He tugged her panties to the side, and she felt him brush the tip of his cock through her folds, teasing her entrance.

“Belle,” he whispered, half gone and aching for her, voice strained but trying to keep quiet because they were far too close to too many people.

“Yes,” she answered. “ _Please_.”

His fingers dug into her hip as he push inside in one smooth, slick thrust. When their bodies met they both groaned and stilled for a moment, until she squeezed her pussy around him. He jerked his hips hard, went even further inside her, and she made a sharp, high noise. Then he started moving in short thrusts, hard and deep, exactly like they both wanted, his low pitched groans feeding her light whimpering squeaks. Her lips pressed tightly together, trying to hold back the gasping shouts she wanted to let out.

He slipped a hand between her legs and rubbed at her clit, light and fast, and she bit her lip so hard there was a faint taste of iron in her mouth. She could hear him behind her, grunting and pleading with her as quietly as he could. She started to flutter around him, pulsing in time with her rapid heartbeat, but then he groaned one last time, and she felt him spill inside her, holding himself still until he was drained.

“Shit,” he muttered.

She made a frustrated noise and he pulled her up against him, his cock slipping out of her with a wet sound. His hand went back to work, tracing her dripping wet lips, using their combined fluids to slide two fingers inside her. She almost cried out but ground her teeth together instead, swallowing hard. He slipped his fingers out and moved up to rub and pinch at her clit. A hand reached behind her, grabbed at his hair, her heels almost slipping on the floor as she started to shake.

“That’s it,” he whispered, then nipped at her earlobe. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

The tension inside her hit its breaking point and she trembled and wobbled, held up only by the weight of her leaning into him and his hand pressing tight between her thighs. She slumped forward again, hand braced on the wall, and panted until the last tremors left her.

Gold put himself back together and then stepped closer, holding her gently around her waist until she sighed. He helped her straighten her skirt, and waited while she smoothed her hair and checked her makeup in the glass covering one of the paintings.

“Are you - alright?” he asked, suddenly uncertain about what had just happened.

“Yeah,” she replied, running her hands over her dress. “I’m good.”

“Good,” he nodded.

They stared at each other for a long moment before she grinned, and then he dipped his head and laughed.

“If you want to come back to my place, I can make it up to you,” he offered, smirking and holding out his elbow for her to take.

She licked her lips, smiled, and wrapped her arm through his.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week later, the bell over the pawn shop door rang out and Gold looked up from the vintage pocket watch he was examining.

Mr. Dove hurried towards Gold, breathing hard. “It - It’s Neal.”

Hours later, Gold was still livid. Neal would be fine, it was nothing a few stitches and an ice pack wouldn’t fix, but Gold wanted revenge. Blood for blood, it was the only way the raging demon in him would be satisfied.

He slumped in his chair at the back of the shop, staring straight ahead at nothing.

_How could she do this to him? To Neal?_

He no longer understood what was motivating Belle. If it had been as she said, to honor her mother’s memory by getting out, then what was the purpose in doing something so reckless? She had to know Neal would be at the warehouse. It had been Neal’s idea to buy the thing and he’d always handled most of the necessities with it. 

Maybe he’d been all wrong. Maybe he had gone too far and this was her way of getting back at him.

He’d hurt her, he knew that. It was probably foolish to think that a quick fuck at the museum, and a long, slow fuck at his place changed anything. That was probably part of her plan too, the minx. She knew his weakness, she was his weakness.

 _Well, no more_ , he thought.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle was shaking.

Her fingers curled and unfolded and curled again around the handle of the gun. It was a dainty thing, pretty too, with it’s pearl inlaid handle and shiny barrel. It had been her mother’s and before that her grandfather’s, but it still worked well. Revolvers were reliable like that.

Her palm was sweaty, slipping over the opalescent surface.

 _She couldn’t do this, could she?_ This was madness.

She dropped the gun on the coffee table and flopped back against the couch, pressing the heels of her palms over her eyes. Her head was pounding. She thought about making herself a drink, about trying to relax in a bath, but it all seemed so futile and useless with all of the bloodshed of the last forty-eight hours.

Leroy was in the hospital, Astrid at his side, on a ventilator, though the doctors said that wasn’t as big of a deal as it seemed and he should fully recover. She knew it was Gold who was responsible, some fucked up payback because he believe she caused Neal to get hurt. It was completely absurd because Neal was part of her plan. 

Whatever went down at the warehouse wasn’t her doing, but of course Gold couldn’t know that. She had hoped Neal could talk him down, but she knew how Gold could be when it came to protecting his family. It was clear that whatever reconnection she thought they had made after the museum party was entirely one sided. 

She didn’t know why Gold had thought she had done something to Neal, or why she would continue their petty back and forth game. She thought that night had been a truce. The way he’d touched her made her shiver to think about even now. It had felt the way it did when they were together, and the things he’d said -

Belle shook her head and sighed. It wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on the past anymore. She had to focus on the future, her future, and finishing what she’d started.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Mother?” Regina called out. “Are you down here?”

She frowned at the basement steps and brushed a trace of cobweb from her fingers. Why her mother insisted on keeping all her documents in a dingy, musty cellar, she’d never understand.

She huffed and stopped before the last step, calling out again. “Mother?”

“In here,” came Cora’s voice, slightly muffled.

Regina went down the rest of the stairs and looked around the corner into the dim basement. “Where?”

Cora stepped out from the old root cellar and smiled that flat smile of hers that never quite reached her eyes. Regina shivered. It always seemed like her mother just had no real emotion to show the world, everything for show. She knew better, but it was still unnerving.

“Did you complete your task, my dear?” Cora asked, moving towards Regina with an old leather bound book in her hands.

Regina flicked her hair back and nodded. “Of course, Mother.”

Cora smirked. “Any problems?”

“None. Nottingham is quite reliable,” she replied. “Neal’s going to have a nice scar, and Leroy should recover, mostly.” She waved a hand casually and rolled her eyes.

“Good.” Cora stepped passed her daughter and started up the stairs. “Once Gold is done tearing apart his little ingénue and her has-been organization, he’ll be ours for the taking.”

Regina smirked and followed after her mother.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_2 years ago..._

Belle sighed and sniffled, pressing the tissue over her nose and mouth. Her eyes blurred with tears as she stared at the glass in front of her. All of the ice had almost melted. She was contemplating whether or not she should drink it anyway, because it was still good alcohol, just watered down, when her doorbell sounded. Sighing again, she pushed herself up, wobbling a bit, and made her way to door.

She yanked the door open and frowned. “Rhys, I -”

“Why didn’t you tell me, sweetheart?” he asked, waiting until she moved aside so he could enter. He closed the door and locked it, then took her by the shoulders. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Better than my father is, apparently.” Her eyes rolled and her speech was a bit slurred.

He frowned. “Have you been drinking?” He leaned in and sniffed at her and she recoiled, frowning again. “Well, at least you got into the good stuff.”

“You want some?” she asked as he took off his coat and hung it up.

He shrugged. “Sure. Misery loves company.”

Gold put his arm around Belle, and she leaned into him as they walked down the hall to living room. He got out a glass from the wet bar and poured himself a scotch while she flopped back into her previous position on the sofa. He took a small sip, laid his suit jacket over the back of a chair, and then sat down beside her.

His chest hurt to think about Moe French, his friend of almost two decades, not being in the world anymore. It was strange how death worked like that, one second someone was there, the next they just - _weren’t_. But more than anything, it hurt to think of Belle losing another parent, her only living family member. Sure she had plenty of people around her who cared about her and loved her, but it wasn’t the same as having a mother or father.

Gold leaned forward to grab the remote and changing the channel on the TV, flipping through a few before he stopped on some channel running old movies. He paused for a moment and was ready to move on to another channel, when Belle shifted and sniffed loudly. 

“I like this movie,” she said quietly.

Gold nodded and set the remote down, then pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch, covering both of their laps. He toed off his shoes and put them up on the coffee table. The movie was something familiar with Audrey Hepburn, but he couldn’t remember the name.

Belle leaned her head back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. They hadn’t really talked about what had happened between them, what had started this relationship of sorts. They fucked a lot, spent more nights together than alone, his place or hers didn’t matter. And now he was here, not trying to make her feel better, not telling her it would work out, not patronizing her with a bunch of pointless words. He knew her, and she was sure he cared in some way, but -

She really didn’t need to try to analyze this now.

The ice in his glass rattled as he swirled it around and then took another drink, sighing at the heat that trailed down his throat. On the TV, Miss Hepburn was getting a haircut, the short style that he supposed everyone was used to seeing her wear. He glanced at Belle. “So, when did you find out?”

She blew out a breath and tipped her head against his shoulder. “Wednesday,” she answered, her voice small and quiet. “I went with him to the doctor’s appointment.” 

Belle fiddled with the cuffs of her sweater and sniffled, swiping a hand over her cheek as a tear trickled down. She sighed and blinked, sending a couple more tears falling onto his shirt. “He’s not gonna be okay.”

Gold swallowed and licked his lips, feeling too choked with words to get any of them out. He set his drink aside and put his arm around her, tucking her against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. 

After a minute he nodded and whispered, “I know, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Belle's dress from the party.](http://i.imgur.com/AEqfnpF.png)


	5. Chapter 5

The door to the nightclub burst open, swinging back on its hinges until it hit the doorstop on the wall with a hard thud that made the whole of it rattle. Gold looked up from the papers in front of him, frowning, as a murderously angry Belle French stalked through the door.

One of Gold’s men stepped up next to her, reaching for her arm, but she promptly elbowed him in the stomach. The man bent over coughing and Gold raised a hand to keep anyone else from standing in Belle’s way.

Then Gold pushed to his feet, and moved around the side of the small table to meet her halfway.

“Fuck you, Gold,” she snapped.

He smirked. “Well, I have the most curious sense of deja vu.”

She gave him a sharp glare. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Miss French,” he said, “if you’re looking to make a deal, you know what my -”

“Shut up!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides, but the hitch in her voice and shine in her eyes betrayed her emotions. “Leroy was too far.”

“Too _far_?” he barked. “Too far was when you went after _my son_!”

“What?” She shook her head and held up her hands as he moved towards her. “I had _nothing_ to do with what happened to Neal. He was going to help me!”

He scoffed. “Oh really? That was -”

“Really,” she interrupted. “Come on, Rhys. I wouldn’t hurt Neal. You _know_ me.”

He shook his head and turn away from her. “No, I _thought_ I knew you.” Then he turned back, his crooked teeth bared. “You made this personal when you went after Neal. The consequences are on you, dearie.”

She rolled her eyes and let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Oh,” he said, barely making a sound. “Do enlighten me, Miss French.”

Her eyes closed for a moment and she took a deep breath. “I was going to give you everything,” she said. Her voice was small and it made him take a step towards her just to hear her. 

“All of it. The ledgers, papa’s book -” She trailed off as tears welled up in her eyes and she looked down at her shoes.

When she looked again she met his eyes, narrowed in confusion. “I don’t care anymore, Rhys. I don’t care what you do, what you think of me. I’m done and I’m _out_.”

“No,” he said, disbelieving and backing away from her. “No! This is some kind of trick, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m going to fall for that again, do you? You -”

"The warehouse wasn't me!” she exclaimed. "I swear it. It had to be Regina or maybe Killian? I don't -"

"Not possible!" Gold interrupted.

“Why?” she asked. “It’s the only thing that makes sense!”

“Because, dearie," he sneered. "I made a deal with the Evil Queen. She's working with me against her own mother."

"What?" Belle gaped at him. "Against _Cora_? How? _When_?"

"The museum fundraising party," he answered. A smirk curved his lips unevenly.

"What?" She said again, shaking her head. She stared at him, hurt rising in her chest and making everything tight. "But we-"

"Fucked?" He finished for her. "And you thought that mattered?"

Her bottom lip quivered as her jaw worked, trying to come up with words, but everything got stuck in her throat. She staggered back a step when Gold stepped towards her, and her hands came up, feebly trying to keep him away.

"Y-you bastard!" She finally shouted. "I _loved_ you!"

He laughed and it was a cruel, terrible sound. "Well, at least that little lapse in judgement is over with."

She blinked and two tears rolled down her cheeks. "I _still_ love you."

"There was a time I might have believed that," he said, his voice low and hard, almost eerily calm. 

Before she could protest again, Mr. Dove hurried in from the back. The sleeve of his suit was ripped and there was a streak of blood on his shirt.

Gold’s eyes went wide as he looked the man up and down. “Dove, what happened?”

Dove’s expression was hard, his eyes narrowed as he coughed and braced himself on the end of the bar, rattling the freshly washed and stacked glasses. He glanced at Belle and then back to Gold, and spit out a glob of blood onto the floor. He choked out one word before he slumped to the floor.

“Regina.”

The glasses flew off the bar top in all directions, shattering as they hit floor, sending shards of glass rattling like ice cubes across the floor. Gold stood with his cane raised over his head, ready to strike at something else. His eyes were wild, his breathing fast and heavy.

Belle had seen him like this once before, but it still frightened her how he could fly into a rage so quickly. She took a step forward, but he backed up and turned, limping towards the back of the club. She waited for a moment, and then steeled herself and stalked after him.

“Don’t do this, Rhys,” she pleaded. Her heels clomped loud and quick over the floor as she hurried after him, following him up the stairs. 

Gold turned around on the steps. “Belle, let me handle this!”

She made a very frustrated noise as he turned again and continued up the stairs. Once they were in his office, he went around the desk and opened a drawer, taking out a black revolver and putting it in his pants pocket.

“The one you have in your jacket isn’t enough?”

He raised an eyebrow at her snide tone, and took an extra clip from the drawer as well, sliding it in his other pocket. Then he came around the desk, with his hands raised, placating. “Please, stay here, Belle.”

“No.” Her hands were on her hips and she leaned forward slightly.

Gold sighed. “Belle -”

“Don’t!” she ordered, pointing a finger at Gold. “Not after what you said to me downstairs.”

He glanced up at the ceiling and then sighed. "I'm sorry. I just-"

"I'm going," she declared.

"Fine!" He snapped. "Get yourself killed along with Regina. I don't care."

She grabbed his arm as he tried to move past her. "Liar."

He met her eyes, so bright and blue and fierce, and had to close his own for a moment. She let go of his arm and he shook his head. His hand came up to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers, lingering on her jaw for a moment where his thumb traced the bottom edge of her lip.

Her eyes fell closed and she squeezed the railing as he headed back down the stairs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Regina’s eyes darted to the window and the street below, then back to the door where Killian and his fellow Irishmen waited. It was getting late, the sun was half set, streaking the city in red and orange. She tapped her foot and glanced at her mother who leaned calmly against the wall, exhaling the smoke from her cigarette.

“What if Gold doesn’t show?” she asked quietly.

Cora smirked at her daughter. “He will,” she replied. “If he knows what’s good for him.”

Regina nibbled at a fingernail. “What if he’s on to us?”

“I’m sure you were quite convincing, dear,” Cora said, taking another long drag of her cigarette.

Regina huffed and put her hands on her hips, swiveling around on her heel, her eyes unable to settle on anything. “But what if he doesn’t?” she hissed, turning back to Cora. “What’s the backup plan?”

Cora shrugged and raised an eyebrow. Then she dropped her cigarette on the dusty floor and ground it out with the tip of her high heels. “Well, there’s always the French girl.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle huddled with her back against the bar, wincing as another shot rang out, shattering the mirror above her head. She bent her head low as glass rained down around her, pressing her lips together to keep from screaming and giving herself away.

“Belle!”

She opened her eyes to see Neal sliding around the side of the bar.

“Neal,” she gasped quietly, reaching for him to pull him further inside where there was more cover. “Where’s Gold? Is he alright?”

Neal shook his head. “With Dove and Gaston around back.”

She looked one way and then the other, her eyes frantically searching for some kind of way out. “Who is _doing_ this?”

Neal swallowed and they both jumped as four more bullets met glass and wood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle yanked open the door of the pawn shop.

“Rhys!” her voice rang out, almost echoing in the oddly dark, quiet shop.

“Back here!” came Neal’s voice.

She hurried into the back room and then dropped to her knees beside the cot. “Oh!” she gasped. “No! No no no!”

“I’m - ,” he winced and then coughed, blood squelching between his fingers as he pressed in on his abdomen. “Belle -”

She looked over her shoulder at Neal as Gold groaned and struggled to sit up. “What happened?”

Neal came over with a wet cloth and two towels. “I don’t know exactly.”

“Who shot him?” She looked back at Gold, panic rising in her, and then to Neal again who seemed calmer than she thought he would be for having his father bleeding out in the back of his shop.

“There were kind of a lot of bullets,” Neal quipped as he knelt over his father, and handed him the wet rag.

Gold groaned again and peeled away the remains of his suit jacket, replacing it with the cloth and pressing it hard against his wound.

“Regina,” Gold managed after a moment. “She double crossed all of us.”

Belle frowned. “You said you had a deal with her. You turned her against Cora!”

“Apparently not,” he replied. He tried to smile too but it just sent him into another coughing fit.

Belle brushed his hair back from his face. “Just stop, please, Rhys. Stop all of this.”

There was a noise out front and Neal exchanged a look with his father before he slipped through the beaded curtain with a pistol in his hand.

“It’s a little late for that, sweetheart,” Gold said. “Cora has to be brought down and I’m going to see to it.”

“You’re not doing _anything_ in this state,” Belle snapped. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Where’s Neal?” She glanced towards the curtain and then back to Gold. “Neal!”

Gold put his free hand on her arm. “It’s going to be alright, Belle. I’ve taken care of -”

“No! It’s not!” She swiped a hand at her damp cheeks and met his bright brown eyes. “Just - why couldn’t you just trust me? Why wasn’t I enough?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” came his shaky reply. He moaned and rolled forward, and her hands came up to steady him. He raised a hand and held on to her arm as he leaned his forehead against hers. “You were, I just -” he paused as another wave of pain passed through his body. “I just didn’t believe -”

Gold moaned and coughed again, this time sending little spatters of blood over the front of Belle’s blouse. Neal came back through the curtain, tucking the gun in the back of his trousers.

“We have to go, Belle. The cops are gonna be here any second.” He hurried to the wall safe and pulled the door open, removing the books, a stack of money, and a small black flash drive.

“You have it?” Gold asked, looking at his son. “You know what to do?”

Neal nodded, smiling feebly, and held up the drive. “I got it, Papa.”

Then Neal reached for Belle’s arm and she cried out, turning on Neal and yanking her arm away. “No! I’m not leaving him!”

“Belle,” came Gold’s voice, and she calmed for a moment as she met his eyes again.

Neal grabbed her arm again and pulled her through the curtain, ignoring her protests, as Gold sagged against the wall.

He struggled for a deep breath, wincing as pain radiated across his chest, making everything tight and his vision blur. With his free hand, he fumbled in his trouser pocket and pulled out the small revolver, shifting it in his palm, trying to get a good grip. He groaned again, and rolled forward as everything went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_8 months ago..._

 

Belle hesitated outside the door of the pawn shop.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. They had agreed that things were getting too dangerous, too many sides in the eventual war, too many ways everything could go wrong once Moe French died. But she needed to tell him. She couldn’t just leave town and go into hiding, leaving Gold to fight her battle, without him knowing how she felt. She knew she should have told him a long time ago, but there had just never been a good time.

Somehow fear and desperation made right now the only time.

She tried not to think about what Regina had said, knowing the other woman was just trying to get under her skin. If she told Gold about it, things would only get worse, and the last thing she needed was him on a vendetta against the Mills women. Sighing, she pushed open the door, smiling as the comforting scent of old things and wood polish washed over her. This place had always felt comfortable, welcoming, and in some way she felt like she belonged here among the antiques and little knick-knacks.

Gold stared at the gears on his workbench. 

They seemed foreign to him even though he’d disassembled and rebuilt this kind of clock a hundred times. He couldn’t get the image out of his head, Belle getting out of the back of Regina’s black Mercedes, the smile on Regina’s face, the way Belle leaned over the car before she left like she was telling Regina one last thing. When Dove had brought him the pictures, taken on his cell phone, Gold could hardly believe it. He knew something was going on with Regina, and he suspected some kind of double cross, but not from Belle.

He’d been so stupid, so _blind_. He let his emotions get in the way of business, made it personal when it never should have been, and worst yet he’d fallen for her. And just like with Milah, he’d been betrayed again, only this time it was to Regina and Cora Mills instead of the IRA. Small favors, he supposed.

The bell over the door rang out and he set the clock parts down, picking up a rag to wipe off his hands as he stepped through the beaded curtain.

He saw her standing there, her fingertips brushing over a newly acquired first edition, bought with her in mind. He’d meant it to be a birthday present.

His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard. It was time to do what needed to be done. 

“Belle?”

She looked up at him, surprised, and then smiled.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning.

The curtain clattered closed behind him, swinging back and forth in the doorway. She shrugged, and he set the rag down on the counter near the book she’d been admiring.

“I can’t let you do this alone,” she said.

He scoffed. “Really?”

“Why did you come back?” he asked. He was baiting her, but he wanted to see if she’d come clean on her own, or offer some plausible explanation so he could stop feeling the sharp ache in his chest.

She sighed. “I wasn’t going to. But I changed my mind,” she said. Her lips curved a little as she looked at him. “I needed to tell you something.”

He swallowed, wondering if he had been wrong all along. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” she started, taking a deep breath, “I love you. I want you to come with me. We can -”

He laughed, the sound as cruel and cold as she’d ever heard. She shrank back from him as he sneered at her. “No you don’t.”

She _loved_ him? Oh, that was rich.

“I don’t - what?” she asked. She shook her head, confused, and started to smile because everything suddenly seemed so absurd. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped.

Her eyes went wide. “Rhys you’re not making sense. I haven’t lied about anything!”

“Oh, really?” he replied, his voice low and calm. He’d been right all along. He’d been played. “You left out a little detail the other night at dinner.”

She blanched. “What?”

“About your new friend, _Regina_?” 

He leaned on his cane, baring his crooked teeth. He wanted to scream at her, to rage and cry and make her tell him why she would do this. He could have loved her so easily.

“ _Regina_?” She looked at him aghast. “I don’t -”

“She turned you against me, didn’t she?” He stabbed a finger at her as he backed her into a shelf. “This was all a trick. You don’t love me! You never cared about me! You’re working with her, aren’t you?”

His eyes were as wild as she’d ever seen, dark and brimming with anger. She tried to get away from him, but he just stalked after her, quietly, calmly. She didn’t know what had gotten into him, why he thought she was somehow plotting against him with Regina of all people, but now she was just getting mad.

“She’s not my friend!” she snapped, and it finally made him stop. “Not after what she did to my family!”

He snorted and smiled, shaking his head. Her excuses were rather pathetic. He’d expected more. “Oh, is this you being a hero, then? Taking the family business legitimate? Leaving _me_ out in the cold?”

“No!” she yelled. “I told you my plan because I trusted you! I thought we could do it together!”

Gold’s jaw tensed. “No no no -”

“I _love_ you!” she screamed. He started at that and stepped back. “Why won’t you believe me?”

The case next to them exploded, glass flying out into the space. Belle cried out as a shard ripped into her tights and skin, stinging painfully. She staggered backwards, her heels sliding and crunching on the glass. She could feel the tickle as blood slowly dribbled from her wound and ran down her leg.

“Leave,” Gold hissed. His hand was still clutched around the end of his cane, the shiny handle hovering over the broken case.

Belle raged at him, snatching a small, thin vase in white porcelain from a nearby shelf and throwing it at him. It hit a curio cabinet behind him and shattered, but he didn’t flinch. “Fuck you, Rhys!”

She turned and started to leave but then stopped and whirled on him. “No. You know what you are? You’re just a coward!”

He smirked. “Oh, I’m not a coward,” he replied, finally lowering his cane as he limped towards her. “It’s quite simple, really. Power, money, and what I’ve poured into this business mean more to me than you and your little _fairytale_!” He saw her eyes shining with unshed tears and for a moment, he softened just a little. “There are no happy endings for people like us, Belle.”

“No. People like _you_!” She squared her shoulders and swallowed. “You’ve made your choice, and you’re going to regret it.”

He laughed again. “Oh really? Well, run along, _dearie_.” He waved his fingers at her, his nose wrinkling a little. “Run back to the Evil Queens and show them what a good little soldier you’ve been.”

“Fuck you,” she spat.

Then she spun on her heel and wrenched open the door to the shop, throwing it closed behind her as hard as she could.

Gold open his mouth and exhaled, his eyes going shut as his mouth closed. He ground his teeth together and squeezed the handle of his cane. A slow trickle of blood leaked out between his fingers as a small bit of glass dug into his palm. He wouldn’t go after her, not on the street, not like that.

But he would get his revenge.

There was nothing holding him back now.


	6. Epilogue

_2 years later..._

"And because so many of them were always begging him to tell and tell again the story of his adventures on the peach, he thought it would be nice if one day he sat down and wrote a book." 

The petite brunette paused, her eyes surveying the small group of children sitting in front of her.

"So he did," she continued, smiling. "And _that_ is what you have just finished reading."

She beamed at the gathered children until they all realized the story was over and started to get up.

"Next week story time starts at four instead of two!" she called out. "Because school starts Tuesday!"

There was some expected grumbling at her reminder, and she had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. The woman snapped the book shut, and a little blonde girl sighed.

"What's wrong, Sarah?" the woman asked, kneeling down.

Outside the little bookshop a man in a fine tailored suit watched as the woman inside soothed the little blonde girl. The girl was wearing a red gingham dress and her curly hair was pulled back in pigtails. It was quite the adorable picture and the man couldn't help the crooked smile that crept over his face.

The little girl's mother collected her and left, brushing passed the man on their way out without so much as a glance. He hesitated before he entered the shop, still uncertain of what he was doing. So much time had passed, and he felt like he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t all a dream, or if he really had the right person. She looked the same, but not, older, wiser too perhaps. 

The things they had done could wear a person down, darken the soul with a weight that would never really abate, but she seemed as alive and bright as ever.

He pushed through the door and came to stand by the front counter, leaning on his cane. The shop wasn’t quite what he’d imagined. It was smaller, like the town, old and worn in. The floors had seen better days, but the paint on the walls looked fresh, especially in the little reading area where the kids had been sitting. There was a mural covering the entire back wall, depicting fairy tale characters, and a large tree reaching all the way to the ceiling. A castle sat onn a hill in the distance, it’s banners waving in welcome.

He watched the woman pick up the large pillows from the floor, and stack the diminutive chairs. She fetched a rag and wiped down sticky fingerprints from small tables, and there was a soft pang in his chest as he thought of his son and grandson. He didn’t know when he’d be able to see them again, but they were safe, _she_ was safe, and that was what mattered.

She saw the man as she turned away from the low bookshelves, and a look of surprise came over her face. The man smiled, and she smiled back.

“Storybrooke, huh?,” the man said as she walked towards him, her very high heels clicking on the old wood floor. “It’s small, but quaint. I like it. And the weather reminds me of home.”

“Did you find the house, okay?” she asked shyly, biting her lip around a smile. 

He looked thoughtful and nodded. “I like the color. It’s very...pink. Very _you_.” 

She gave him a look. “It’s _salmon_.” 

He rolled his eyes. “As long as it has a good kitchen, and a large master bedroom, I don’t care what color you call it.”

She laughed at the way he smirked when he mentioned the bedroom. “So you didn’t go inside?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to wait for you to give me the full tour.” 

His eyebrows wagged suggestively and she laughed again, finally throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. He made a surprised little noise, but quickly wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her to him.

The kiss broke and she licked her lips, trailing a finger down his tie. “Let’s go home.”

“Let’s,” he replied and then kissed her again.

She pulled away before things could become too heated, leaning her forehead against his for a moment. “Just let me get my stuff and lock up.

She went into the back, while he waited, and came out with her coat on and the strap of her purse looped over her arm. She flipped her hair out of the collar as she walked back to him, adding a little extra sway to her hips that had him licking his lips and grinning.

They stepped out onto the sidewalk, and she locked the door behind her before they set off down the street.They passing a few small store fronts and a traditional looking diner with a large sign that said Granny’s over it. He momentarily raised an eyebrow, and then shook his head.

“So,” he said after a few minutes, “ _I’m_ dead, and, officially, _you_ don’t exist.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, managing to keep a straight face as she looked sideways at him. “We’re quite the pair.”

He laughed, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close, and she leaned into him as they rounded the corner to a street with a row of Victorian houses.

“I forgot,” he added. “What are you calling yourself these days? I want to make sure I’m screaming the right name later.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Lacey.”


End file.
